Casca 27: The Confederate

by Tony Roberts

  The second guard bit off an exclamation and dragged his rifle off his shoulder and cocked the hammer. Case was already moving sideways, falling to the ground. The shot meant for him spat narrowly past and the surviving guard grabbed another cartridge. Case ran onto the bridge and pounded across towards the man. The Yankee, realizing Case would be onto him before he loaded, stood up and pointed his bayonet at the approaching man, his teeth fixed in a grimace. Case grabbed his knife and raised it above his head. Using his momentum, he jammed his right foot into the planking and half turned, bringing his hand down hard, releasing the knife as it came level with the guard’s chest.

  The guard’s eyes widened but he was too late to move. The knife sank into his chest right to the hilt and he choked off a cry of pain and grasped the hilt uselessly, dropping his gun. He fell backwards, his vision fading and he vaguely felt the knife being torn from his bleeding body before he was allowed to lie there in peace.

  Case grabbed the cartridge and percussion cases and belt and ripped them from the dead man. The shot that had been fired would bring anyone within hearing distance running. Working fast but without panic, Case looted what he could of use before running off the bridge. The land on either side of the river here was swampy and he recalled there were farms up ahead, then Cold Harbor beyond that. He needed a horse; maybe a farm might provide one.

  He searched two farms he came across but without luck. They were deserted, looted, empty. The buildings were smashed, the fences broken. Everything had gone. He dodged one mounted patrol and by dark had almost reached Cold Harbor, skirting the battlefield of Turkey Hill where he and his men had been pinned down all that time ago. He used the edge of the trees so that if anyone came by he could duck into the undergrowth. He ate the remainder of the food the priest had given him before settling down for the night. His sleep was disturbed by images of rivers of blood pouring down the hill, covering him and he felt himself drowning underneath it all. He awoke gasping, sweating. Cursing, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

  The next morning was grey and a drizzle fell lightly. Case drank from a brook before resuming his journey. The best bet was to get food from a supply depot. He wondered if one existed at Cold Harbor, so he made his way to the old settlement which was closer to his route. He passed through a wood and emerged half a mile from the place. There was a tavern on the road as he approached, but no sign of any soldiers. He made his way rapidly to the tavern, the very building which had given Cold Harbor its name. Case knew that it was a place to get cold water to drink but no food was available. The tavern was a refuge – a harbor – and that was how it got its name.

  The building seemed deserted and nobody could be seen around the other buildings. He could smell no cooking, nor hear anything other than the birds. Just off to the left was where Grant had launched his assault a few months back that was bloodily repulsed with thousands of casualties. Now, nobody but the dead inhabited this place.

  Hoof beats alerted him and he ducked behind the tavern and loaded the rifle. Multiple horses were coming down the road from the direction of Gaines Mill, and he wondered if they were looking for him. He risked a quick look and saw about eight men on horseback milling about. One of them, a lieutenant, was barking orders. Case cocked an ear.

  “Okay you guys, search every building! I want any trace of anyone coming this way reported to me at once. There can’t be many, so search in twos. Every building!”

  Case’s face took on a thoughtful appearance. A horse and no doubt food. Just what he needed. How to get both? He sidled back and scuttled round the back of the tavern, finding a doorway he’d passed by without noticing it before. He tested the door and found it locked. Listening to the noisy soldiers breaking into the buildings, he decided to risk making noise himself. He kicked at the wooden jamb which splintered and a good shove broke it inwards. He slipped into the tavern and made quickly for the front. Two men were already in and checking the saloon area. Case arrived by the corridor that led from the rear of that room and he took cover under the staircase that went up to the accommodation quarters above. The two men, carbines in hand, obviously didn’t believe anyone was within. They joked about finding a drink or a woman and not sharing either with the others.

  Case grinned to himself. They’d find something more than they bargained for. He would have to move swiftly though. One went upstairs, calling out for an imaginary prostitute to prepare herself, while the other, snickering quietly, turned to search the rear of the building. As he passed the staircase, Case lunged, knife first, sinking the blade into the kidneys, angling up, and twisting. His hand clamped on the unlucky cavalryman’s mouth and the wounded man struggled briefly before his injury overcame him and he sank to the ground, assisted by Case. The Eternal Mercenary wiped the blade and dragged the corpse under the stairs and picked up his firearm.

  He stared at it. It was shorter than a rifle, the barrel by about eight inches. Also there was no ramrod and Case examined it all round for one. None. He saw there was a lever parallel to the trigger guard and the area immediately forward of that was metallic. The hammer was as usual but this was a different type of gun. He mused awhile, listening to the footsteps of the man upstairs. He tried the lever and a cartridge suddenly ejected itself from the top. Case puffed out his cheeks. This was one of those breech-loaders! He’d heard of them. Spencer repeating carbines. A user could shoot off around seven or eight shots without reloading. It was a new kind of firearm. Up to now only pistols had multiple shots per reload, but now there was this.

  He fumbled the action and found the cartridges were loaded into a tube that was inserted into the breech. He reloaded the ejected cartridge and searched the body for more but there were none. Must be on his saddle. More experimental checking followed and he worked out the hammer had to be cocked before firing. Well, this was something!

  “Hey, you found some drink or something? You awfully quiet!” The second man came stamping down the stairs, his spurs scoring deep on the wooden stairs. Case stood up and stepped out face to face with the surprised Yankee. “Huh?” he gaped as Case reversed the carbine and brought it cruelly down on his head.

  Case now cocked the hammer and strode to the front of the tavern and peered out of the door. The others were congregating on the road, all shaking their heads. Case glanced at the carbine and fixed a smile on his face. “Well, first time for everything,” he muttered, “here goes.”

  He stepped out and raised the carbine to eye level. The officer would be the first. His shot took the man clean through the shoulder blades, the 45 grain bullet plowing through his chest cavity and exiting out through his chest in a fountain of blood. Case swung his aim to the left to the sergeant who was rooted to the spot, his mouth open. He worked the lever and Case saw the spent cartridge fly out. He cocked the hammer and blasted the sergeant through the heart.

  “Who-hoo!” Case screamed in delight. He cocked again and worked the lever. It had taken four seconds. The others were now reacting, going for their guns. At a range of twelve to fifteen feet it was a suicidally stupid thing to do. The man in between the two shot men raised his carbine and Case’s third shot blew his lower jaw open and crushed his larynx. The soldier jerked back and fell lifelessly to the ground.

  Case was in paradise. Yelling in glee he swung the barrel ten feet to the right and cocked again. “This is one helluva weapon!” His next shot smashed into another man’s shoulder, spinning him round and he fell to the rutted road. Fifteen seconds had elapsed since he’d come out of the tavern. The remaining two men by now had raised their carbines and Case ducked back behind the door. Bullets smashed into the wood, sending splinters into Case’s cheek. He swore and lay flat. The shots went over his head as the two frightened Yankees blasted shot after shot into the doorway. Case rolled out from behind cover and sighted on the left hand man, just visible from his position. The horses had all bolted in fright and so the two men were exposed. Case drilled a shot into his stomach and the unfortunate soldier folded ov
er in agony and sank to his knees, his hands clutching his injury.

  The last man fired but a heart-stopping click betrayed he’d run out of bullets, and Case stood up and stepped out onto the road. “Drop it, kid,” he said. Case was still on a high. He felt like God. A weapon like this in his hands was a prayer answered. The surviving soldier put his hands up and stood there, trembling. “Please, mister, don’t shoot.”

  Case grunted. “I don’t shoot unarmed people unless provoked,” he said. “Sit down.”

  The youthful Yankee did as he was bid. Case looked over the others. Apart from the man he’d hit in the shoulder, the rest were dead or well on the way to being so. He looked at the carbine again. “Some weapon, kid. Pity we ain’t got these.”

  “‘We’?”

  “The Confederacy. I’m a Rebel, son. On my way to your HQ to assassinate Grant. With this I can do it, too. Whoowee!”

  “You-you can’t do that! He’s the General!”

  “So? A bullet kills a general as easily as a Yankee lieutenant. Go help your wounded pal there while I go ride one of your horses off to HQ and kill Grant. Be seeing you, kid.” Case ran to the nearest horse, grabbed the reins and checked there was food in the saddlebags. There was, plus extra ammunition. Vaulting on horseback he rode up to the stunned soldier. “You’ll be needing a new general before long. So long!” Laughing he rode off west. Hopefully the soldier would raise holy hell and the roads to the south and west would be covered. That was fine; he was only going north to Fredericksburg. Galloping off on the Gaines Mill Road, he rode out of sight before cutting across country to the north. Now he could get to Fredericksburg, forty miles away. He’d be there by nightfall the following day. Then all he had to do was to rescue Rosie from under an entire garrison in an occupied town with everyone’s hand against him. Just the sort of thing he was made for.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Fredericksburg was a wreck. It had been ruthlessly looted and the artillery damage from two years back mostly hadn’t been repaired. The inhabitants were sullen and resentful but at the point of a gun could do nothing. Those who co-operated with the Union had been elevated into high positions while those who refused were arrested or removed. A sign of things to come? Case decided that was probably the way things would turn out for all eleven Confederate states should they lose.

  Case sat at ease in the Rising Sun Tavern, attired differently than how he had been a few days earlier. He now sported a long calf-length coat and a black felt hat. The coat was essential because underneath it he had his carbine, looped in a thigh holster he’d improvised on his way to the town. He’d sneaked in that evening under the cover of darkness, using the memory of his previous visit to avoid the guards. They kept a vigilant watch, but not good enough to spot him.

  Now, disguised as a man in pseudo-military attire, he could pass for either a well-to-do man or a collaborator, or even a Federal dressed in unorthodox manner. Case reflected that some folk were damned careless with their clothing. No matter, it suited his purpose. His attention was for the moment fixed on the copy of Harper’s Weekly he was reading. It was dated October 15, 1864, the previous week’s edition. An engraving of a General Hunt and Major Duane filled the front page. Inside things were full of the impending Presidential election. Lincoln was having a rough ride and none other than former Army of the Potomac commander McClellan was running for the opposition. He looked for the news of the war, and found the fighting around Richmond was still deadlocked. ‘High losses’ were reported on both sides.

  Case grunted and looked further down. Atlanta in Georgia had fallen to Sherman. Case only just bit off a cry of despair. That just about made things impossible down there. Hood was holding a line twenty miles outside the city but Case doubted the aggressive general would be able to retake the place. The South’s best chance of clinging on to victory had rested with Lincoln losing the election and the ‘peace’ alternatives winning, but the fall of Atlanta probably had finished any hope of that. He turned the page. Sketches of Jubal Early’s retreat in the Shenandoah he skipped, then two portraits of generals belonging to Butler’s Army of the James caught his attention. But there was nothing about the war so he lost interest. He glanced up and saw again Rosie. He’d spotted her a few times already and watched her as she served the soldiers present in the tavern. Typical soldiery off-duty they were, loud and cheerful. They were winning the war and were doubly happy. Case smiled. He’d been in that position on many occasions. Losing was just an occupational hazard, and he didn’t resent their good spirits.

  The one thing that seemed a problem was the attention she was getting from a couple of men, two of whom just didn’t seem to take no for an answer. Rosie clearly wasn’t happy and slapped the hands of the man currently pawing her. The soldier laughed and appeared to be encouraged by her resistance. Case sighed. Looks like he’d have to take care of lover boy. He dropped the paper to the table and caught Rosie’s attention, raising an arm for a drink.

  Rosie came over, smoothing down her blouse forcefully. “Yes, sir, what can I get you?” she asked.

  Case looked up at her, the light from the oil lamps no longer kept from his face by the brim of his hat. “Rosie, message from Billy Brady,” he said softly.

  Rosie stared at him for a few seconds in incomprehension, then the color drained from her face as his words registered and recognition hit her. “Oh my God!” she breathed.

  “Sshh!” Case put his finger to his lips. “You don’t know me, okay?”

  Rosie swallowed and nodded, her face now coloring. It was quite a pyrotechnic display. “Where is he?”

  “A long way off but safe. He’s worried about you and wants you away from here. How are things here?”

  Rosie looked round swiftly. Most of the men were paying no attention but one or two were looking for another drink and were anticipating her coming their way. She waved at them and turned back to Case. She leaned forward, her breasts pushing hard against her low cut blouse. Case suddenly appreciated Billy’s tastes. “Horrible,” she said, “these men are so arrogant. They say all Rebels will be shot when they’re caught. Is that right, Sergeant Lonnergan?”

  Case shook his head. “Horse shit, if you excuse the language.”

  Rosie smiled. “I’ve heard far worse, believe me.” Case didn’t doubt her for a moment. She went on. “There’s a couple who are really trying hard to get me into their beds. They say my love is dead, now I know they’re lying – not that I didn’t believe them anyway. Oh, it’s so good to hear he’s alive! Could you take me to him, please?”

  Case shrugged. “It’s behind both lines and I doubt I’d get you through them. But I’d be happier if you’re away from a garrisoned town. You know a place where you could go that’s safer? Any family?”

  “I’ve got a cousin up the Rapidan River near Brandy Station close to the Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s a small place, no soldiers. Had a letter from her the other week saying the war’s passed her by. I’d love to go there but the owner here won’t let me go. He’s happy to continue under the Yankees but we don’t get much money. And things here are so bad!”

  “Hey, Rosie, how about some beer?” a raucous voice yelled above the general hubbub. Case nodded towards the speaker. “Best go serve these thirsty heroes. I’ll be by the door to the back stairwell in twenty minutes. Be ready to leave.”

  Rosie squeezed his arm and bounced off, a weight off her mind. Case scanned the room slowly and centered his attention on the man who’d taken too much interest in her. He was bareheaded, tall and reasonably strongly built, but not too much so. A strong guy but not as strong as some he’d known. He had black hair and it was pressed down on his head and center parted. A neat guy. He had a circle of admirers and it was clear he saw Rosie as a conquest, another notch on his bed and probably raising his status amongst his comrades. His gaze followed Rosie as she took another order and made her way to the bar. The owner stopped to talk to her and wagged a stern finger at her. Rosie shook her head and as she mo
ved away, glanced over in his direction. Case looked away and at the door that led to the back.

  When the time came to move, he stood and left the paper on the table. Making sure his coat was closed – he had buttoned up only two of the many buttons on the coat, leaving the top and the bottom open for better movement – he made his way through the crowded room. Leaving the top of his coat open allowed him easy access to the carbine should he need it. A few curious glances came his way but they lost interest and went back to story-telling or drinking. Case reached the door and leaned against the architrave, studying the room. Nobody was looking at him.

  The door opened inwards and Case stepped into the corridor. Rosie gestured urgently for him to follow her up. Case did so and waited outside her room while she gathered her few belongings. She appeared wearing a thick dark blue coat and boots in place of the small shoes he’d worn before. In her hands was a bag stuffed with some clothes and belongings. “Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I’ve a horse outside town. We’ll have to walk a little way. If anyone challenges you, you’re going to visit your sick mother.”

  “But mom passed away a few years ago,” Rosie said.

  “They know that? Of course they don’t. If things get real bad I’ll take over. Is there another exit?”

  Even as Rosie went to show him, the door from the main bar opened and the neat man who’d pawed Rosie earlier and two friends came laughing through, stopping in surprise when they saw Case. Rosie put a hand to her mouth and tried to shrink into the shadows, but the leading man spotted her on the bottom step. “Hey, Rosie, I was wondering where you were and the boys back there said you’d come out this way.” He stared at her coat and then at Case.